


The Monsters Turned Out To Be Just Trees

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan January Joy 2021 (Once Upon a Time), Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Episode: s02e06 Tallahassee, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28736229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: The last thing Emlyn Cygnus needed to encounter on this adventure was a pair of blue eyes and a handsome face named Captain Hook. If they don't die by the end of this—and there's plenty of opportunity when climbing a beanstalk and fighting a giant—they just might end up together. (A D&D-flavored take on 2x05-06)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	The Monsters Turned Out To Be Just Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the organizers of Captain Swan January Joy 2021 for putting on another great event! Hope you enjoy my entry in this year's festivities, inspired by the awesomeness of Dungeons & Dragons (but you don't need to play to understand it—just come along for the adventure!)
> 
> Title comes from "Out of the Woods" by Taylor Swift

Weary and disheartened, the small band of maidens shuffled back to the camp they’d been staying in the past few weeks—the lone gathering of civilization in what was left of this once-enchanted forest. Their last mission had been a bust; they’d been led right into a trap set by Cora, the evil wizardess, and had lost their best shot at getting back to their home kingdom of Misthaven, a realm away.

Emlyn Cygnus, the defacto leader of the group, was the most bereft; her son was back home, and she was desperate to get back to him. What kind of sorceress was she when she couldn’t even manage to cast spells properly against the (incredibly powerful) villain standing in their way? She’d be better off as a fighter, like her ally Jun Ping, the soldier. But no; she was just an orphan with weird powers that she barely understood and was only halfway decent at wielding the sword strapped to her side.

“Chin up; we’ll figure this out,” a gentle voice at her side encouraged. She glanced down at Snow White, the halfling ranger she’d met a couple years back with the constantly sunny disposition. Sometimes, it was annoying how hopeful she was—but Emlyn couldn’t deny that it was starting to rub off.

“We’ll see,” was as much as she’d admit, though. They continued their trek through the dense foliage towards the makeshift village, spirits worn but senses on alert; there were still ogres in this part of the world, so Snow had her bow and arrows at the ready, and Jun was on constant lookout, her enchanted sword in hand. Briar Rose, the bard, kept worrying her bottom lip; it was quite obvious a song was waiting on her tongue, but now was not the time to let it loose.

And so the downtrodden party approached the gates of the encampment. But something wasn’t right—they could all tell right away. It was too quiet. And oddly, the guard tower was empty.

Suddenly, Emlyn found herself coveting Jun’s sturdy steel armor; it seemed like it would be a lot more useful than the bits of leather she and Snow were wearing over their tunics and leggings for whatever they were about to face. At least she had more than Briar; if the elf princess had any protection at all, it was hidden beneath an impractical, gauzy gown.

“Stay close,” Jun warned, lifting her sword aloft. The rest of them readied their weapons (well, Briar Rose only had some small daggers) and carefully entered the camp—but didn’t get far.

Strewn all across the center of the camp were bodies. Emlyn recognized the closest one as the washerwoman.

“How could the ogres have found everyone?” Jun wondered aloud, clearly upset.

“Ogres didn’t do this,” Snow said. She was kneeling over another body—one of the soldiers who had been in the guard tower. There was a gaping hole in his chest, right over his heart. “Cora did.”

It should have been obvious; that was Cora’s hallmark—ripping the hearts right out of the chests of her foes. Even enchanted armor couldn’t protect from it; Emlyn shuddered at the thought. No thanks. 

They continued through the carnage, looking for any sign of life; but other than the smoking embers of cookfires, there was little movement. It truly was a ghost town.

Until the faintest noise caught Emlyn’s ear, from beneath a pile of bodies—a groan. Through the mess of limbs, she thought she could see a hand waving.

Briar Rose must have noticed it, too, because they were both rushing toward the mess, throwing bodies aside to free whoever was trapped under there.

And suddenly, Emlyn was staring at the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Sure, they were looking up at her through a grubby mop of hair and a face in desperate need of a wash (although, it too was quite fair to behold), but those eyes—she could drown in them, she was pretty sure.

(And she was immediately sure she’d never tell that to another soul.)

“Please; you have to help me,” he begged, his voice weary and accented, though she couldn’t place where from.

“It’s okay,” Snow assured him, helping clear the corpses from around him. “You’re safe now; we won’t hurt you.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, and then took a few more long breaths; it wasn’t hard to imagine the kind of putrid air he’d had hiding beneath the slaughter.

Once they’d fully freed him and helped him to his feet, Emlyn was able to take better stock of the man; first impressions aside, she wasn’t going to let her guard down for a pair of pretty eyes and a handsome face. He was of medium height and slender build—at least, what she could tell beneath the ratty cloak he wore. He only had one hand, and his left wrist appeared to end in a wrapped stump. And his ears were slightly pointed, suggesting he had elfin ancestry—though not as dramatically so as Briar Rose’s.

Snow, ever the doting one (and living up to her halfling nature), began to tend to the man and fuss over him. But something told Emlyn that something wasn’t right here.

“Why would Cora leave a survivor? It’s messy,” she said to Jun, out of earshot of the others. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“You think he’s lying?” she asked; her tone suggested she agreed.

“I think Cora’s tricked us before. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Part of her wished she knew how to brew truth serum, but she was uncommonly good at sniffing out lies without it. She had to hope her own instincts wouldn’t fail her now. 

“I can’t thank you enough for your kindness,” the man effused when she joined the rest of the group, seated around a feeble fire. “Fortune, it seems, has seen fit to show me favour.” He gave her a dimpled, scruffy grin that she refused to let have any effect on her. (Well, she tried, at least.)

She shook her head and moved on. “An island full of corpses. You’re the only one to escape. How exactly did that happen?”

“She attacked at night,” he explained. “Slaughtered everyone in one fell swoop. When she started ripping out people’s hearts, I hid under the bodies of those who had already been killed. Pretended to be dead myself. Mercifully, the ruse worked.” 

“So much for fortune favoring the brave,” she deadpanned.

“It was all I could do to survive,” he insisted, a touch melodramatic.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” she said, leaning in close to him. “I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” His lips said one thing, but his eyes—or rather, the mildly sinister sparkle hiding in them—said otherwise.

The others began chatting about heading out; obviously, the camp wasn’t safe anymore. And, as if they’d forgotten, Snow reminded them they needed another way back to Misthaven. The stranger perked up at the mention of their kingdom.

“I know this land well,” he offered with faux-helpfulness. “I can guide you.”

Emlyn had been circling him while the others talked, and now stood behind him. In one quick move, she grabbed a dagger from Briar Rose’s belt and pressed it to the man’s neck—not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for him to question any quick movements. “You’re not going to guide us anywhere, until you tell us who you really are.”

He breathed in sharply, but the fact that he didn’t immediately protest told her all she needed to know: whoever he was, he wasn’t a friend.

But she was hesitant to fully label him an enemy—even if it would help her keep him at arms’ length. (She had a feeling she would need to.)

Eventually, he managed to feebly proclaim he was “just a blacksmith” while the others quickly grabbed whatever provisions and gold had been left behind, but he didn’t struggle against Emlyn or her blade. He briefly tried to fight off her and Jun when they tied his hand and forearm together behind his back, but must have realized that was a losing battle.

They made their way back into the forest; they’d be able to find somewhere safe to camp later, but first, they needed to take care of this guy. While Emlyn and Jun had few qualms about having a body count, Snow and Briar did. 

So they tied him to a tree to leave him for the ogres. His attempts to resist and object fell on deaf ears, though Briar remained noticeably silent; there weren’t many pacifist bards in the world, but she was one of them.

Once Jun had the knots secure, Emlyn whistled; the sound was likely to draw the ogres. Snow was a good enough shot with her bow that they’d be fine should one attack them. Blue Eyes, on the other hand...not so much.

“You don’t want to talk to us? Maybe, you’ll talk to the ogres while they rip you limb from limb,” she taunted; heavy footfalls sounded in the distance. “Come on; let’s leave him.”

They started to walk away, but Briar Rose lingered. “What if he’s telling the truth?” (Intelligence was not her highest stat.)

“He’s not,” Emlyn tossed back without even looking.

The ogres were audibly closer, “Good for you! You bested me. I can count the amount of people who’ve done that on one hand.”

That did make her pause, and she glared back at him. “That supposed to be funny? Who are you?”

“Captain James Hook, half-elf rogue swashbuckler, at your service.”

“That’s real original,” she quipped.

“Oh, and your name’s any better?” he tossed back.

She swallowed the immature retort she wanted to counter with, but (called him a jerk in her head and) moved on. “So, Captain Hook, unless you want to be dinner, you better start talking.”

“Cora wanted me to gain your trust, so I could learn everything there is to know about your Misthaven. She didn’t want any surprises when she finally got over there.” For the first time since they pulled him out, he was completely telling the truth.

Apparently, the ashes of the wardrobe they had tried to retrieve on their last mission—the one that they’d been forced to destroy in a fire to prevent Cora from using—still held the enchantment that would permit cross-realm travel. 

Emlyn was ready to leave it at that, pocket the information and go, but she’d no sooner took another step than he shouted, “Wait. Wait! You need me alive!”

She hated that her heart gave a little flip at that. “Why?”

“Because we both want the same thing—to get back to your land.” 

She was still holding Briar’s dagger, and wasted no time in pointing it at his (very sharp) jaw. “You would say anything to save yourself. Why are we supposed to believe you now?”

“I arranged for transport with Cora. But, seeing how resourceful you are, I’ll offer you the same deal. I’ll help you, if you promise to take me along.”

“How are you going to help us get home?”

“The ashes will open a portal, but, to find your land, she needs more. There’s an enchanted compass. Cora seeks it. I’ll help you obtain it before she does.”

“So, Cora won’t make it to Misthaven, and we’ll be one step closer to getting home.” 

“Sounds too good to be true,” Snow said.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Emlyn tried to ignore it. “You tell me one thing, and whatever you say, I better believe it: why does Captain Hook want to go to Misthaven?” 

His face turned stern. “To exact revenge on the man who took my hand… Rumpelstiltskin.”

It was the truest thing he’d told them—and it was dripping with anger. She wasn’t surprised; few who had encounters with the mythical dragonborn warlock came out of them with positive experiences. 

Jun looked to Emlyn to gauge their next move; she nodded her affirmation that he was being honest. In no time, Jun had severed the ropes holding him to the tree, but left his improvised shackles tied, with the stipulation that she’d remove them once he got them to wherever this compass was.

But, of course, the ogres got there first. It was a common misconception that ogres were hard to defeat; while they could deal a lot of damage, if someone was good (or had luck) with ranging attacks and knew where to aim, they were easy to take down. Briar Rose and Hook hid behind the tree while the others dispatched the ugly creatures—only two of them, thankfully; Emlyn and Jun were able to dodge away from their monstrous clubs while Snow nailed two almost-perfect shots, right in their eyes. And thankfully, Emlyn didn’t have to call on her erratic magic.

Hook stared on in awe as Emlyn led them away from the cooling bodies; when she was sure he couldn’t see, she smirked to herself that they had left him speechless.

They did eventually have to let him take the lead—he also had been telling the truth when he said he was familiar with this part of the world. Which was odd because his awkward gait suggested he wasn’t used to being on land; but even pirates had a home port, so she supposed it wasn’t all that shocking. Still—she didn’t let him get more than an arm reach away in case he tried anything.

“Up ahead,” he called out after a few hours of hiking. “We’ll find the compass just over the ridge.”

Sure enough, they came upon a large clearing in a matter of minutes; in the center was the tallest beanstalk she’d ever seen, climbing into the clouds and out of sight. (Well, the only one she’d ever seen, but—details.)

“Let me guess—the compass is up there?” she grumbled; she was still exhausted after their last bust of a mission. 

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, far too casually.

“So, how do we get to it?” 

“It’s not the climb you need to worry about,” he stated plainly. “It’s the giant at the top.”

Right. Ogres, heart-stealing witches, and now giants. All things she definitely needed. (Not.)

The closer they got to the beanstalk, the more terrifying it looked. She didn’t think she was scared of heights but—damn. This thing was something else. And she could feel the magic vibrating off of it, humming in resonance with her own.

“Well, your compass awaits,” Hook said, oddly cheery. “Shall we?” He was being oddly polite for someone still tied up and dressed in rags.

(And she absolutely wasn’t thinking about what he had on under them—or what he didn’t have on underneath. Nope. Not at all.)

She had to wonder, though—if this was a beanstalk, why couldn’t they just grab a bean? It was well-known that those also carried the ability to let people travel across realms. Why bother with a fight if they didn’t have to? (Why tempt fate with her powers going awry?)

But, as Hook explained, there were none left—just one angry giant protecting a castle in the sky. “And we’ll have to get past him to—”

“The magic compass,” Snow finished, dejectedly. Nothing was ever easy, was it?

“Indeed,” he confirmed. “The treasure remains, and amongst it is the compass.” Well, at least they might get some gold out of this. “Now, it will guide us to your land. Cora has the means to open a portal with the wardrobe ashes, but she can’t find your land without the compass. Once we get it, steal the ashes from her and we’re on our way.”

He said it so easily, but Jun remained unconvinced. “How do we know you’re not just using us to get the compass for Cora?”

“Because you four are far safer company,” he admitted (and it rang—understandably—true). “All I need is a ride back. I’ll swear allegiance to whomever gets me there first.” Though the message was clearly meant for everyone, he was staring intently at Emlyn; she could feel heat rush to her cheeks and looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see her reaction.

Instead, she turned her attention to the stalk. “Then we’d better start climbing.” She reached for it, but he interrupted just in time—to let her know that it was enchanted to repel intruders. Because of course it was.

And, oh so conveniently, he had the counterspell. Snow untied him and he finally shed the ragged cloak, revealing a frankly lewd ensemble beneath: black leather pants that left little to the imagination, an equally dark and form-fitting leather vest, and a black tunic underneath that was hardly buttoned, giving her an impossible-to-miss view of (what appeared to be a very fine array of) chest hair.

From the satchel that she had completely missed at his side, he pulled two leather cuffs (seriously, what was with this guy and leather?). Somehow, he tossed one at Emlyn while holding the other—all with his one hand. “What do you say, lass? Care to join me on this adventure?”

She wanted to argue about him putting her on the spot like that—it should have been a group decision—but when she glanced at the other girls, they were all just nodding at her.

She sighed in annoyance and glared at the ground, but slipped the cuff on. Her eyes were glued on the dying weeds at the base of the leguminous tower until she heard an unexpected clicking noise, and finally glanced up to see him snapping his hook into place on the brace (also black leather) that had been hiding under his tattered clothes. Which he cheekily waved at her once secure. 

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second,” she warned, though it didn’t sound anywhere near as menacing as she intended (dare she say it—flirtatious?).

“I would despair if you did,” he countered, somehow showing off his tongue as he did so. 

She turned away and reached for a vine before she could tempt fate further, even if that disproved what she’d just said. “Let’s go.”

Amazingly, he had no reply; she could feel his eyes (and smirk) on her, but he simply followed her in stepping onto the stalk, and then it was onward and upward. 

At some point, she did wonder just how bad it would be if she fell. If there was any chance at survival. Right about the time that she did indeed miss a handhold and her foot slipped, and the only reason she didn’t plummet back to earth was a quick save by Hook’s...well, hook. She could feel the sharp point of it slice into her palm but it was significantly less painful than the alternative. 

She breathed a quick “thank you” and then went back to making sure the stems she was grabbing were secure. Not for the first time, she was jealous of the others; Snow was no doubt making them take a rest for however long this side adventure took. With any luck, they’d be able to take one after finishing their ascent.

That is, if he didn’t irritate her to death before that.

“First beanstalk?” he asked cheerfully, halfway up, like this was something he did every day. She hoped the way she was concentrating on not dying was enough of an answer. “Well, you never forget your first.”

She let out a huff and his casualness and continued climbing (and if she stole a glance at the way his rear end looked in those leathers, then that was her business and hers alone). 

“You know, most men would take your silence as off-putting, but I love a challenge.”

“I’m concentrating,” she threw back half-heartedly.

He made a noise somewhere between assent and disbelief. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“You’re a rogue; you should be used to people not trusting you,” she retorted.

“Ah, the pirate thing,” he chuckled to himself, but it was hollow. “You should know that things will be a lot smoother if you do, though.”

She just rolled her eyes; despite her attraction to him, she didn’t know enough about him yet. It wasn’t like the crew she had down on the ground—they’d been through a lot together. This guy—they’d just freakin’ met, and she hadn’t figured out if he was truly aligned with them or not yet.

The rest of the climb passed without further event—or conversation—until they finally broke past the clouds to the stone foundation of the castle at the top. He tried to help her hop off the stalk, but she jumped past him and looked around to get her bearings—and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Unnaturally large skeletons were sprawled across the courtyard, with some of the stones beneath still discolored from blood. Weapons were scattered everywhere—some oversized, some normal (to her, at least). And parts of the looming castle behind were in rubble, though it was still obviously a nigh-impenetrable fortress.

Or maybe they were just the first ones dumb enough to try in a while.

“What happened here?” she had to ask; maybe they could at least avoid a similar fate.

“It’s where the final battle was,” he said ominously. Yeah, that told her a lot. She wanted to know more, but he had other concerns. “Let me see your hand.”

“What?” She looked down at it; there was a gash across her palm from where his hook had cut her, but it wasn’t that bad, even if it was still bleeding sluggishly.

“Your hand—it’s cut.” He reached out and snagged his hook around her forearm, bringing it closer. (Why was that attractive?) “Can you heal it?”

Her ego wanted to say yes, but that was one of the spells she hadn’t yet mastered, so she had to shake her head. 

“Then let me help you.”

She tried to protest, but he wouldn't hear it. “So, now you’re going to be a gentleman?”

“Giants can smell blood,” he whispered, quietly and snarkily. “And I’m always a gentleman.”

He treated the cut with rum (typical) and bandaged it with a scrap of fabric (apparently using his mouth to aid him, which was...something else, in a good way, she thought).

“Now here’s the plan,” he started, once her hand was wrapped to his satisfaction. “We wait for the giant to fall asleep. And when he does, we’ll sneak past him into his cave. It’s where the treasures are—where the compass lies.”

“And then?”

“And then we run like hell.”

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“I don’t hear you offering a better one.”

“You didn’t give me a chance,” she snapped back. “We don’t have time to wait for a giant to fall asleep. We have to go on the offensive.”

“But against a giant?”

“Are you scared?”

“No. But it’s the two of us versus one massive him.”

“So you’re telling me that sword on your hip is just for show?”

“Ah, so you’ve been staring at my hips?”

Okay, she walked into that one; but it didn’t stop her from blushing and glancing away until she regained her composure. “Look. Between the two of us, we’ve got enough skills to get in there with minimal detection, knock out the giant, and get out again safely. Maybe even find a good hiding spot to rest for a while.”

“I knew you wanted to sleep with me.”

She rolled her eyes but took that as an agreement and walked toward the castle door, if only to put some distance between them; she needed to clear her mind and shake off the effect he had on her if she was going to successfully cast any spells. She might still be figuring things out magic-wise, but she had at least a couple she could rely on. 

To be safe, though, she drew her sword before crossing the threshold. Just behind her, Hook unsheathed his as well. 

“Shall we, love?” he posited, then winked (badly) as he stepped forward. She took a deep breath and followed. 

It was dark inside; she could just barely make out the path ahead, but he seemed to be fine. She tripped over—something, no idea what but at least it didn’t fight back—that he’d pointedly stepped around. 

“How the hell can you see?” she griped, dusting herself off before making sure there were no other hazards preventing her from standing. 

“Half-elf, remember? I have dark vision,” he said quietly. She could at least see well enough to tell that he’d extended his hook to her to help her up, and didn’t hesitate to take it. “This is where the part about trusting me comes in,” he whispered once she was upright, close enough that she could feel his breath on her ear. Hopefully his vision wasn’t so good that he could see the shiver it sent down her spine. 

It was an unsaid thing; she just held onto his hook as he navigated the dark hallway, only letting go for him to undo some sort of booby trap. She stood as still as possible then, scared to even exhale too loud if it gave them some disadvantage. At the end of the passage, she could see a room with some sort of unnatural light, but they still had a bit to go to get there.

He helped her navigate the rest of the corridor to what appeared to be a main room. And her eyes grew wide when she realized what the source of the light was: gold—and lots of it.

“They hoarded all of their greatest stolen treasures in here,” Hook explained, staring around with starry eyes. “Piles of jewels, and every room filled with coins.”

It was tempting—that much gold could buy them anything they desired. But she’d yet to hear of enough money that would get them a portal to another realm.

“Let’s get to it, then,” she said, keeping her eyes peeled for anything compass-like—or anything moving.

“What’s your rush?” She looked back over her shoulder at him—inspecting some of the treasure, unsurprisingly.

“How long until the giant notices we’re here?” she tossed back.

“I’ve no clue,” he shrugged, sniffing at the coin in his (beautiful, long) fingers. (Why was he doing that—and why was it attractive?)

“That’s my rush,” she said. “We can’t get too distracted if we need to act fast.”

He huffed a bit, and pocketed the piece of gold. “Too right, lass,” he agreed, and finally caught up to her and forged ahead. “Come. Everything we need is right in front of us.”

(She ignored the fact that he was one of those things.)

The only problem was—there were a lot of things in front of them. An overwhelming amount. And what didn’t tower over them was tossed about haphazardly and not at all organized. “They kill all the giant housekeepers, too? How we gonna find a compass in this mess?”

“By looking,” the smartass answered.

She glared, but did as he suggested and began to poke around, keeping her senses alert for anything magical—as well as any indication the giant had found them. Maybe they’d luck out and he (or she, she supposed) was long gone, or at least wouldn’t be bothered by a couple of comparably tiny adventurers. 

But that meant Emlyn had to be as quiet as possible—not an easy feat. Despite her last name, she bore none of the grace of her namesake creature; Hook, however, seemed to make up for it, the way he lithely moved across the room without a sound.

They’d been searching for half an hour with no results. “Are you sure it’s in here?” she whined.

“Allegedly.” She glared at him again, but he didn’t see it; his gaze was trained on a cage-like structure in middle of the pathway through the center of the room. Specifically, the pile of treasure on top of it. “Give me a boost, would you, love?”

“So I can’t see what you’re pocketing? No way.” She jogged over to him. “You give me a boost,” she said petulantly.

“I thought we already had this conversation, darling. It’s called trust.” His stern scowl was equal parts annoyed and hurt, she could tell, and not for the first time, she felt ashamed at doubting him.

“We do it side by side, then, and fast,” she offered apologetically. “Who knows how long before the—”

Too late.

A thundering noise was heard, and its reverb shook the stone floor, knocking down some of the coins stacked along the wall. 

“Quick; get under something,” he commanded, and she could tell he was using his captain’s tone. They both jumped under the coop.

Another rumble came, rattling the cage above them and knocking down some of the baubles from on top (no compass, that she saw). 

Closer still came the earthquake-like footsteps until the giant crashed into the room: he had to be well over 30 feet tall, younger than she expected but no less fierce, wearing an ornate robe and with decorations in his beard and pulled-back hair. 

Of all the things she could think at that moment, for some reason the one her mind settled on was  _ “Do giants speak the common tongue?” _ But the roar he let out when his eyes fell on them was understandable in any language. 

A jolt ran up Emlyn’s arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin, but it was just Hook tapping his sword against hers. “You wanted to go on the attack; looks like this is it,” he said. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Ready.” 

Before she could make a move, Hook was already running out, aiming his blade at the giant’s calves (all that was within reach, really). It was hard to tell just by watching if he made contact, but the giant did let out a hiss of pain, so she had to assume some damage was done. 

The giant swung a fist at Hook while she ran over, but missed—or he dodged it, either was likely. Once she was within striking range, she too swung out, aiming for the other leg—and her blade dug into flesh. 

Too well, though; it clearly hurt the giant, as he limped back, but she wasn’t able to pull out her sword in time and there it stayed, embedded in his calf. Shit. 

Hook made another successful jab, but it barely affected their foe, whose sole focus was on Emlyn. Her mind was going blank as she tried to take stock of any other weapon she had when suddenly, something grabbed her around the middle and dragged her into the air. 

And then she was face to face with the giant, held tight in his fist. Not that it was much use, but she finally remembered she still had Briar’s dagger—on her belt, out of reach. 

“Oy! You big git!” Hook yelled. Emlyn couldn’t see where he was but had to imagine he was dancing around the giant’s feet still, finding some way to provoke him. “You want to kill a human, eh? Well, I’m the worst human around.” Huh; she figured he’d be insulting the giant, not himself. Weird tactic. “Come on. Come on, then!”

Oddly, it worked. He didn’t put Emlyn down, but he made another swipe toward Hook, reaching down—but missing. She made every effort to get out of her confines, but nothing budged, and the giant was too focused on Hook to register what she was trying (and failing) to do. 

Again, Hook shouted insults and sliced at the giant’s ankle as he ran between his legs; and again, the huge man swiped at him, and missed. He let out another roar of fury and stomped, making the whole building shake—enough to make her worry about its structural integrity.

The same pattern continued a few times more: Hook being an ass, the giant reacting, and Emlyn struggling to break out of his grasp. The giant was at least slowing down, though; the attacks on his legs were making him limp and stumble. Maybe he’d fall and drop her; it was more likely to work than her futile attempts to shimmy loose.

The cycle was starting again and she could tell that Hook was getting cocky, chuckling to himself as he darted around the giant’s feet. It would be endearing (and she loved the sound of his laughter, she couldn’t deny) if they weren’t still in danger. Just because the giant was lagging didn’t mean he was anywhere near being felled—and he was bound to get in a hit at some point.

Except—he didn’t. He must have realized his whacks at Hook weren’t accurate enough to hit, so he switched tactics and tried to stomp on him. He missed—he was moving to slow to even come close—but the resulting shockwave from his forceful step made the castle tremble even harder, bringing down some of the ancient stone ceiling…

...Right on top of Hook. The last she saw, he was cowering from the slabs coming his way, but it was highly unlikely he came out of that unscathed.

And now she was alone. If they were going to defeat the giant, find the compass, and get the hell home, it was up to her.

Having nothing else to lose, she did the last thing she could think of in an aim to free herself of the giant’s fist: she bit down on the flesh inside his thumb—hard.

And, incredibly, it worked.

Her landing wasn’t soft by any means—gold might be a soft metal, but it’s still metal—but adrenaline was flowing; she could deal with the bruises later. She stood up and sprinted for the giant’s leg—the one her sword was still embedded in. Quickly, she yanked it out, ignoring the accompanying spray of blood, and swung it at the back of his opposite heel.

It landed, her blade somehow finding the bit of exposed skin where trouser and boot failed to meet. And the giant absolutely yowled. Apparently an Achilles’ heel was universal. 

She took advantage of his distraction (and subsequent foregoal of an offensive move) to summon her strength and focus; she needed both if she was going to cast this spell effectively.

She held her hands out in front of her and pictured the spell in her mind’s eye, gathering her concentration—and feeling the physical manifestation of the magic forming in her palms, two warm spheres of white light.

She took a deep breath and recited the incantation under her breath and...it held. Success.

She let the spell fly toward the giant, hitting him squarely in the face and knocking him out instantaneously. He collapsed face-first on the floor in a crashing heap, emitting a thunderous thud against the masonry.

It was easily the most powerful spell she’d ever cast—she felt drained almost immediately, though she wasn’t sure if the recoil she felt was from the magic or the force of the giant’s fall. Either way—she did it. And he was likely to be out for a while.

After catching her breath, she started to move toward the pile of rubble where Hook last stood, but something caught her eye near the giant’s belt. There were plenty of shiny things in this room, but this was abnormally dull and burnished compared to the rest. And small.

Carefully, she tiptoed over, making sure to avoid even breathing on him in case she was wrong about the efficacy of her spell. The object was roughly the size of her palm, and lay face down on the floor, with a small chain dangling off one end. Delicately, she picked it up, making no sound, and flipped it over.

It was the compass! Thank fuck. There were some dents on the casing but she could feel it humming with magic. God, she hadn’t seen anything this beautiful in ages—not since her son was born, probably. (Not counting Hook’s eyes, but that was neither here nor there.)

But, speaking of—she pocketed the compass and, still meticulously, crept over to where the rogue was (hopefully) still hiding.

“Hook? Hook!” she whisper-yelled as she began to move rubble out of the way. Like earlier, his hand appeared from the wreckage; she’d never been so glad to grab it and help him out. 

He was covered in dust and there was a small gash on his forehead, but he was otherwise no worse for the wear. After taking a few gulps of fresh air, he looked past her at where the giant lay slumbering. “He’s out cold,” he breathed, in a tone that suggested he was surprised. She was getting ready to defend himself when he found her gaze and grinned. “You’re bloody brilliant, love. Amazing.”

And then he hugged her.

And...she didn’t hate it.

It was over before she got a chance to reciprocate, though. “The compass—did you get it?” he asked; she nodded. “May I see it?”

She pulled it out of the pocket on her belt and held it out to him, but not so far that he’d have a chance to steal it. He grip around the tool tightened when his hand hovered over it. “It’s more beautiful than legend,” he murmured, enraptured—but that was par for the course with a pirate when faced with golden treasure, wasn’t it?

Although—it felt like a decent amount of that statement was directed at her, his blue eyes suddenly boring into hers.

That was enough; he’d seen it. She repocketed it and stepped back, putting some space between them.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Emlyn, but I think we make quite the team,” he said softly; he was smirking, but not moving any closer. Still—it just made her want to kiss the dimple out of his scruff.

So she did.

She grabbed the edges of his vest (probably snagging a few chest hairs in the process) and hauled him to her, firmly pressing her lips to his, tasting the rum that lingered on them. He was stiff at first, but then melted in her kiss, wrapping his hooked arm around her and burying his hand in her pulled-back curls. 

It seemed like he was going to break for air at one point, but he quickly found her lips—and her tongue—again. God damn, he was good at this; her mind wondered at what other skills he might have, especially as the proof of his own arousal was pressing against her core (and she was definitely leaning into it).

Until her traitorous lungs actually did scream for air, bringing reality crashing down on her. They were still on a mission—they still had so much to do—hell, the giant was snoring 30 feet away.

“That was…” he stammered, breathless and, if she had to say, fuckstruck.

“A one-time thing,” she murmured back. There was no room in this game to give into attraction.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek so reverently she thought she might cry.

“But—my friends; my son—he’s waiting—”

“I know; and you’ll get back to him, I’m positive. I’ve yet to see you fail.” God, he was more confident in her than she was. “But it’s okay to take a moment for yourself, too.”

He hadn’t left her space; not that he could—she was still anchored to his vest, a lifeline as she sorted through the warring desires in her heart. Yeah, she needed to get back to her friends and to get home, but right now? 

She just wanted him. 

“Okay,” she whispered.

He grinned—not the rakish thing he’d given her earlier when he was trying to charm her, a genuine smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes and made his blue irises sparkle. He firmly kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen it. (Well, one arm; the other may have wandered south. He did have a fine ass, after all.)

(And he couldn’t talk once his wandered, too.)

“Are we even allowed to do this?” she giggled, unfastening the closures on his vest as she pushed him toward a worn-out cushion laying haphazardly (and serendipitously) a few feet away.

“I don’t see why not,” he answered nonchalantly, too concerned with untying the laces on her leather armor to be bothered with any silly rules.

The cushion took him by surprise and he fell back, but wrapped an arm around her at the last second so she fell on top of him, pressing his generous bulge against her own aching sex. She was careful when she sat up to stay right on top of his erection, even with the layers of leather between them, as she undid his belt and let his vest fall open. And maybe grind a bit on it. His ensuing groan made her grin.

She wanted to untie the laces of his pants with her teeth, but was too distracted by the full sight of his chest hair to achieve it. He, on the other hand (pardoning the pun), wasted no time in tearing the laces of both armor and her tunic below with his hook, leaving her in just her corset and leggings. 

“Lucky move,” she murmured as she rolled her hips against his.

“Aye; so is this.” He flipped them over, so Emlyn was the one below him against the musty cushion. And god, having his weight over her like that—she was wired with anticipation.

They didn’t waste any more time in undoing their pants, freeing both of their aching arousals. She took his firm length in hand and stroked a few times, memorizing the guttural noises he was unable to hold back.

But he gave as good as he got, his fingers deftly warming her up inside and out, making her stomach clench as he just grazed that sensitive spot on her inner walls.

There was a bit of an awkward back and forth as they found their rhythm, bringing one another closer and closer to the peak of ecstasy, trading kisses as they went, but still they found it—damn, did they. 

“Come for me, love,” he said, voice husky with want as he dragged his digits through her sex. 

She shook her head, though. “Together.”

He didn’t reply; he simply positioned himself between her legs and reached down to lift her hips. He fumbled a bit finding her entrance, but she guided him in and oh, he filled her perfectly. 

And then he moved and—damn. Setting a rhythm here was much easier, and she found herself nearing her precipice quickly. 

Maybe not quickly enough though. “Are you there?” he panted out. 

“Almost,” she gasped back. “Can you hold on any longer?”

“I’ll try,” he said, strained, though his stuttered movements said something different. 

“Hook, please—”

“Fuck,” he hissed. 

“What?”

“A one.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“A one? You rolled a one?”

“Thus the ‘fuck’.”

Emma and Killian both turned to Tink, their dungeon master, who was clearly holding back her laughter. “Oh boy. Well, then, Hook came early, long before Emlyn got off, leaving her utterly disappointed from their encounter.”

“See, I knew this would happen when you had all those high rolls on foreplay,” Killian accused. Emma rolled her eyes. 

Tink ignored them both and continued. “But, you might be able to make a saving throw here and get her off orally.”

He frantically grabbed his red-and-black swirled, twenty-sided die and rolled it into his leather dice tray. “Does a 17 work?”

Tink glanced over something behind her screen and then smiled. “Yep. You successfully pleasure Emlyn with your tongue; she comes with rapturous screams that nearly wake the giant, but he just grunts and goes back to sleep. You spoon her for the appropriate amount of time until you both fall asleep, finally taking a well-deserved rest.”

Emma and Killian let out twin sighs of relief—or something like that—at the proclamation. This. This was why she hated playing Dungeons and Dragons with him—he was too fucking good at dragging her away from whatever they were supposed to be doing, into some other side adventure with just the two of them. It was infuriating. 

And she loved it. 

(She hadn’t admitted that the feeling applied to him, too, but she might get there...some day.)

“Damn; I’m gonna need a cold shower when I get home,” Aurora said from the other end of the table. Emma jumped; she’d nearly forgotten the rest of her friends were still there, apparently watching her and Killian act out their fantasy within the confines of the game’s structure. 

Hell, Mulan and Mary Margaret were sharing a bowl of popcorn. “Yeah; David better still be awake when I get home,” Mary Margaret added. The miniature figures of Briar Rose, Jun, and Snow (respectively) were all down by them, each with their own pieces of popcorn. 

(Emma’s and Killian’s were, well, in a compromising position on a coaster.)

“You guys are being creepy,” Emma threw back, hoping beyond hope they didn’t catch the flush rising in her cheeks; she’d never hear the end of it.

“Bone Killian for real, then, and stop derailing our games with your UST,” Mulan snarked. 

“Bugger off,” Killian muttered; but a glance his way showed that his (actually pointed) ears were as pink as Emma’s face. “And why aren’t you yelling at Tink? She’s the one who apparently has game play written for sex!”

“Aaaand that seems like a good place to end for the night,” Tink interjected, clearly sensing the tension brewing in the room. “I’ll send a message on Discord to let you all know who got what loot—and don’t forget to level up. This time next week work?”

The ensuing debate about when to play next was a much-needed reprieve. Mulan was right: there had been something building between her and Killian for well over a year now—ever since he moved to Storybrooke from the UK and joined their little D&D group. 

(Ever since that one late-night campaign at Mary Margaret & Dave’s house six month ago that ended with the two of them sharing a bed—and a sloppy drunken makeout that she said she forgot but didn’t really.)

Emma focused on putting her stuff away (the sparkly red set of dice Killian gave her for her birthday) as the next session date was settled on, doing anything she could to avoid looking across the table. 

She’d had her heart broken—shattered, really—before to the point that she wasn’t sure she could risk it again. And she knew Killian had, too. 

So as much as she might like the idea of something more happening between them, she just wasn’t sure. But in the confines of D&D, well—it was safe. 

She packed up her dice bag, put on her jacket, and said her goodbyes as everyone trickled out of Tink’s apartment. But she was so lost in her warring feelings that she didn’t realize she’d fallen into step with Killian, falling back from the others; it happened so often that it was reflex. 

“Swan, I...I meant what I said, earlier,” he stammered out. He was usually so confident—like the characters he played as—but there was a vulnerability in his voice tonight that rarely made an appearance. “It doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

She stopped, and he stepped in front of her. It took all her strength to lift her eyes to meet his; the honesty and—other strong feelings—staring back at her were goddamn overwhelming. 

(Another thing: he’d never really described Hook’s appearance; she just imagined it the same as his, though maybe took some liberties with the prosthetic hook at the end of his left arm. But...he was the one who gave the character that detail. He knew exactly what he was doing.)

“I know why you’re scared, love—more than anyone,” he continued, reaching for her hand with his. She caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his right forearm—a reminder of his own heartbreak. (Hers? Her son, Henry. That part of the game wasn’t made up either.) “But like I said: you can trust me.”

She swallowed a frankly massive lump in her throat. It did nothing to slow her racing heart. For so long, she’d put so many other things first—needs over wants, especially when it came to Henry—but now, someone was giving her the option to satisfy one of her wants. To actually take a moment for herself. (Well, outside of playing D&D.) 

And, like earlier, she wanted him. 

“Okay,” she whispered.

And again, she kissed the grin off his face, dragging him toward her by the lapels of his leather jacket. 

The details of their in-game makeout were not far from reality either, but the nearest flat surface was unfortunately a concrete wall. 

“Could really use a musty cushion right now,” she joked when they came up for air, but she didn’t move away—in fact, she pressed closer; and this time, she didn’t have to imagine the feel of his arousal against her. 

“It’s not musty, but I do have a decent mattress—unless you have to get home for Henry.”

(Did she mention that Killian was amazing with her son? And was teaching him how to play D&D, too?)

“He’s with his dad this weekend,” she replied. “I’m all yours.”

They hurried out of the building hand-in-hand, giggling like teenagers. Everyone had already left, so there was no audience for their parting kiss—but Tink would notice if Emma’s car stayed behind and Killian’s didn’t. Their friends had enough thoughts on what was going on between them; it only seemed fair to keep them guessing longer. 

Killian’s mattress was indeed better than a dusty old cushion in a giant’s castle. 

When it came to making love, reality was infinitely better than reality. 

(Especially when there was no risk of rolling a 1.)

And, as it turned out, they really did make quite the team—both within the game and in life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! The inspiration for the last part of the session definitely came from the _Community_ episode "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons"; specifically [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODgu_-rR1X8).


End file.
